They called him Indy.
When he moved in next door
had his own little house
near the wood pile.

Mixed blacks & browns
with a white brindle strip
a 60-pound nemesis
of every possum, squirrel,
snake and rabbit. They
laughed, said you could take
the dog off the rez, but not the rez
out of the dog.

Made friends through the fence.
I watched him age and slow,
using a sharp bark to make critters
pick up their paws.

We had a spot by the fence where
He would come for strokes. That’s
where I saw the cataracts. That’s
where I found the lump.

We knew it was coming. One morning
he stayed in his shelter. I crabbed over
the fence. Crying, I kicked a ghost hole
in the back of Indy’s hogan.
I can’t use his name anymore,
but the chindi is free.
Once a rez dog, always a rez dog.